


I'm Gay and You Can Too

by paramountie



Category: Boy Meets World
Genre: Coming Out, Everyone Is Gay, Jealousy, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, POV Bisexual Character, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13001076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paramountie/pseuds/paramountie
Summary: Over the next couple of weeks, everyone started coupling off. Jack and Eric grew suspiciously cuddly. Rachel seemed to have stolen Topanga’s vegan girlfriend. Just when Shawn thought the campus had gotten as gay as possible, he found out that Topanga was hooking up with Angela.Angela.





	I'm Gay and You Can Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tamminator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamminator/gifts).



> This is for you, Tammy <3

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Cory figured out he was gay because of a self-help book.

“It’s got a checklist in the beginning,” Cory said, flipping through the pages of his worn copy of _I’m Gay and You Can Too_. The spine was cracked in several places, and the whole thing was curling up with water damage. Apparently, he’d been reading it in the bath. And the shower. And the rain.

“A checklist can’t tell you you’re gay,” Shawn said. Cory had been raving about this book for weeks now, and it all sounded like a load of New Age hooey. Nothing but garbage about “finding yourself” and “accepting the queer”. There didn’t seem to be a lot of stuff about, you know, being attracted to men. And there was no way in hell that checklist included shit like “You’ve watched _Fight Club_ five times just to see Brad Pitt kiss Edward Norton’s hand again” and “Sometimes your best friend wears the color red and you feel like your head’s going to pop.” Those particular aspects of the queer experience weren’t exactly self-help book friendly.

“But I fit everything on the list,” Cory insisted. He turned the book towards Shawn and jabbed at one of the lines. “Look at number 15!”

“‘You’ve only ever dated one girl,’” Shawn read. Well that knocked Shawn out immediately. Maybe there was a separate list for bisexuals. Maybe _Fight Club_ was on _that_ one. “Cor, you’ve dated a couple of girls.”

“But mostly Topanga!”

Shawn grabbed the book and started skimming. Sure, a lot of this fit Cory, but that was because it was all vague. Most of the requirements could apply to any guy. Hell, some of them even fit Shawn’s _dad_.

“You’ve never gotten your ear pierced,” Shawn said.

“But I’ve thought about it!”

“You have?”

“Well, I’ve seen girls with really nice earrings and thought, hey, how come guys don’t pierce their ears?”

“Because it hurts,” Shawn said, snapping the book shut. “You’re not gay, Cor.”

“You know, the book said people would say that.”

“I think the book was trying to sell more copies.” Shawn pushed the aforementioned garbage across the table to Cory, who picked it up and clutched it to his chest. “You’re not gay. You’ve been in love with Topanga your whole life.”

“On and off,” Cory insisted, “We didn’t talk for most of elementary school. And we broke up a bunch of times.”

“Whatever! You were in love the whole time. I know it sucks that Topanga dumped you, but that doesn’t make you gay.”

The expression on Cory’s face grew decidedly prissy. He pursed his lips and stuck up his nose.

“Topanga agrees with me,” he said, “She’s gay too.”

Not surprisingly, Topanga had been the one to give Cory the book. It was how she’d broken up with him the last time.

“I’m a lesbian now,” she’d told Cory, as he wept loudly in the middle of the student union. “Our relationship has been nothing but an attempt to conform to strict heteronormative ideals.”

It wasn’t the worst break-up line Shawn had ever heard, but it was definitely the weirdest. It had taken Shawn and Cory hours to figure out what “heteronormative ideals” meant.

Not that any of it mattered anyway. Topanga was straight and Cory was straight. They’d been horribly, blissfully straight for as long as Shawn had known them, and there was nothing any of them could do to change that. Cory and Topanga would be back together by the end of the month.

“You two are made for each other,” Shawn said, “Soon, you’ll both remember that.”

“You’re wrong, Shawn,” Cory said, “Wrong and heteronormative.”

Shawn had only learned that word a week ago, but he was sure Cory was mispronouncing it.

* * *

 The Wednesday after that conversation, Topanga was spotted locking lips with a tattooed vegan from the Pennbrook Democrats. Thursday, Cory reconnected with Lionel.

Shawn was convinced that he’d never met Lionel, even though Cory insisted that the guy had been a huge part of their high school experiences.

“Don’t you remember when we had that fight? About going to college?” Cory asked. It was midnight, and he’d come back to their dorm room gushing ceaselessly about how tall, and strong, and considerate Lionel was. Apparently they’d run into each other at a coffee shop, and talked for so long that Cory’s caramel macchiato had gone cold.

“No,” Shawn said. “I don’t remember that.”

He tended to delete all of his fights with Cory from his memory the moment they were over. They’d been miserable to live through. Why look back?

“You said we should try meeting new people,” Cory said. That did sound like Shawn. “So I met Lionel. We stopped talking after you and I worked it out, but I don’t know why I ever let him go.”

“You’re making it sound like you and I are exes,” Shawn said, tugging his pillow over his face. Maybe if he smothered himself to death Cory would shut up.

Or maybe Cory had already shut up. He’d gone suddenly, suspiciously silent. Shawn moved his pillow. With the light flooding in from the hallway, he could make out the line of Cory’s shoulders, and the curls tangled on top of his head.

“Cor?”

“Lionel and I have a date tomorrow,” he said and Shawn groaned. “He’s taking me to a nice restaurant. One where you put olive oil on your bread instead of butter.”

“He’s trying to get into your pants,” Shawn said.

* * *

Shawn hated Lionel. Lionel was too tall, and his head was too oval-shaped, and his glasses were too thick. Too thick and so temptingly breakable. Shawn had never been a bully, but Lionel woke up a terrible, cruel part of him. He wanted to stomp on Lionel’s glasses. He wanted to turn him upside down and shake him until his lunch money came rattling out. He wanted to shove him in a locker, and then seduce Cory before he could get out.

Lionel was nice to Shawn, and that only made Shawn more pissed. Lionel was the type of kind, boring guy that was perfect for Cory, who’d been ninety in his heart since the day he was born. On the weekends, Cory and Lionel went antiquing and got the early bird special at restaurants. Some days they’d spend hours on the couch in the student union, doing nothing but chatting, reading magazines, and holding hands. They barely kissed, but when they did Cory went up on his tiptoes and smiled with his whole face, letting his hand linger right in the center of Lionel’s chest. His fingers would fiddle aimlessly with the buttons on one of Lionel’s hideous, plaid shirts.

Because of this shit, Shawn had developed a pathological aversion to button-down shirts. And plaid. And glasses. He couldn’t walk into a classroom without wanting to abuse at least a third of the people inside. And he could barely sleep anymore. When he did, he had dreams about Lionel and Cory hobbling around in their future nursing home, talking about their grandkids. Or Lionel turning into a trash can that Shawn kicked repeatedly. Or Lionel as a fire-breathing ogre, and Cory as the handsome prince, leaping into Shawn’s arms.

Every moment of Shawn’s life was hell.

* * *

 “Jesus Christ,” Shawn said. “Put a rubber band on the door next time.”

“What?” Cory asked. He and Lionel were snuggling ( _snuggling_ ) on Cory’s bed, with Statistics textbooks perched on their laps. Both of them were fully clothed, but the sight of Cory’s head nestled in the crook of Lionel’s shoulder made Shawn want to barf.

“You two are animals,” Shawn said, dumping his backpack on his bed, “Warn a guy next time.”

Cory huffed out a laugh, but Lionel only stared at him placidly. The guy’s eyes were so dark and emotionless. Sometimes Shawn worried that he was really a zombie or a vampire or something. Trust Cory to bring home a vampire boyfriend right after coming out of the closet.

“Is it okay if I do my homework in here, or are you guys going to get freaky?” Shawn asked. His voice might have cracked a little on the word “freaky,” but no one had to know. Or at least, Cory definitely didn’t know, and Lionel was impossible to read.

“It’s fine,” Cory said, and snuggled up against his mountainous boyfriend again. It was all Shawn could do not to grab a pencil from his desk and gouge out his eyes.

The next hour was pure torture. Even at his desk, with his back turned to the two of them, he could still hear every noise they made. Every squeak and sigh and sweet nothing.

“You have a smudge on your glasses,” Cory said at one point, and then there was a shuffle as he went to wipe them off for Lionel. As if Lionel didn’t have hands and a clean shirt.

Some part of Shawn suddenly, viciously wished that he wore glasses. Cory would step close, eyes warm and crinkling, and he’d slip those glasses off, fingers brushing lightly against Shawn’s skin. They’d be so close, and Cory would be paying attention to him, would be taking care of him. Like Shawn was the most important thing in the world.

God, death would be better than this. Shawn wanted to get hit by a truck. Or some lightning. Maybe a little spontaneous combustion.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Lionel said, in his low, soft voice, and Shawn’s fingers dug into the edges of his textbook.

“Do you know the answer to number 17? I don’t understand it,” Cory said. Paper started rustling.

“It’s complicated, but you can get it,” Lionel said. He started spewing out all sort of stupid math terms like “variable” and “causation.” It was a bunch of gibberish to Shawn, but Cory kept humming and saying “Ah.” Was that why he liked Lionel? Because he was good at math? Was there something super sexy about multi-variable equations and bar graphs?

“That makes sense,” Cory said, “Thanks, babe.”

Babe. Lionel wasn’t a babe. Lionel was a “sugar” or a “honey” at best. Shawn was a babe. Shawn had been told by several reliable sources that he was a babe.

Damn it, Shawn needed to stop listening and do his homework. Those two assholes were messing with his grades. Those two assholes were making him _care about his grades_.

“Could you guys quiet down a little?” Shawn asked.

“Oh. Sorry, Shawnie.”

They stopped talking after that. But they didn’t stop rustling. Turning pages, and scratching their ankles, and scribbling down notes. Hell, Shawn could practically hear their shirts rubbing together. Could they stop cuddling for half an hour? Twenty minutes?

Lionel whispered something, Cory giggled, and Shawn slammed his book shut. Both Cory and Lionel jumped.

“Shawn?” Cory said.

“I’m going to the library,” he said.

“Do you even know where the library is?” Cory asked, and Shawn didn’t bother responding. He just left, letting the door snap shut behind him.

* * *

He didn’t go to the library. Even if he had known where it was, he wouldn’t have gone. The library was dusty, cramped, and full to the brim with books of love poetry for Shawn to cry over. The last thing he needed was to get yelled at by a librarian because his tears had ruined a priceless first edition.

What he needed was to be outside. Maybe then the cold air would bite some feeling into his skin. Or he’d see someone so beautiful he’d forget about Cory Matthews entirely. Or a satellite would fall out of the sky and obliterate him.

Until then, there was nothing to do but wait. Shawn found a clean, grassy spot under a nice oak tree, and settled down. He could do some homework, or write a few poems.

Of course, an hour later, all Shawn had managed to write was Cory’s name (in cursive, in bubble letters, and left-handed) as well as several iterations of “Mr. Shawn Matthews” and “Lionel Sux.” It didn’t have anywhere near the same therapeutic effect as poetry did, so Shawn was forced to pack up and head back to the dorm.

When he arrived, the door was blessedly free of rubber bands, and, even better, Lionel seemed to have vacated the premises. Cory was alone with his nose stuck in a book. Correction: with his nose stuck in The Book.

“Haven’t you read that thing a million times already?” Shawn asked, collapsing face first into his bed. Cory huffed and flicked over a page.

“I need a refresher,” he said, “I’m reading the chapter that tells you what to do when your _loved ones_ hate your _boyfriend_.”

“I thought your family was crazy about Lionel,” Shawn said. As he kicked off his sneakers, he tried to resist the urge to cackle victoriously. So Lionel wasn’t Mr. Perfect to everyone. Some people saw how evil he was inside. The Matthews family had always had good instincts.

The book slammed shut. Shawn jumped.

“It’s you, Shawn,” Cory said.

“What’s me?”

“You hate Lionel.”

“I don’t hate Lionel,” Shawn said, although he couldn’t put any energy into the lie. The words were hard enough to say on their own, without forcing himself to emote as well.

“Shawn, you never talk to him!” Cory said. “You can barely be in the same room as him!”

“That doesn’t mean I hate him!” Shawn said, “Maybe I’m… allergic to him!”

“You can’t be allergic to a person.”

“Yes you can!” Shawn shot back, “It happened to one of my uncles.”

That was true. His Uncle Vic used to bust out in hives whenever his ex-wife was around. One time, his throat even closed up, although the doctors were too close-minded to admit that the ex was the reason.

“Shawn,” Cory said, and he was using the disapproving tone that Mrs. Matthews always used whenever she caught one of them doing something dumb, like digging in Mr. Feeny’s yard. Or climbing from the treehouse to Mr. Feeny’s roof. Or hiding under one of Mr. Feeny’s windows and scratching the glass to convince him that his house was haunted. “Why don’t you like Lionel?”

Now that was a question that Shawn couldn’t answer.

“He’s too tall,” Shawn said, knee-jerk, “Sometimes I worry he’s going to step on me by accident.”

“Shawn.”

“He killed my great-uncle.”

“ _Shawn_.”

“I think he shot JFK.”

“Is it because he’s a guy?”

Shawn’s mouth clicked shut, and he stared at Cory.

“What?” he asked. His stomach had dropped to somewhere around his toes.

“Is it because Lionel is a guy?” Cory said. “Do you not like that I’m gay?”

Cory had put his hands on his hips and set his feet wide apart, making his body language big and tough. But his expression was small and shaky. Shawn knew that if he didn’t play this off perfectly, Cory would be crying in no time.

But what was Shawn supposed to say? He _didn’t_ like that Lionel was a guy. When Cory and Topanga had been together, Shawn had been fine with it. He’d been happy for them. If Cory had to date someone, it should be someone like Topanga. Topanga was gorgeous, and tough, and took care of him.

Most importantly, Topanga was a girl. She was a girl, and her girlhood kept Cory perfectly unattainable, locked away in a dungeon so deep Shawn could never get to him.

Sometimes, he used to daydream about Cory loving him. In the dreams, Cory would come climbing in through Shawn’s window in the middle of the night, eyes bright and a little manic. There’d be sticks in his hair, and a rip in his jeans, and he’d fall onto Shawn’s bed, looking at Shawn like he always used to look at Topanga.

“I was wrong, Shawn,” he’d say, “I never loved her. It was always you.”

Then, Cory would kiss him, and everything would weave together perfectly, like the last shot of the best movie ever made.

But the dream didn’t make sense anymore.

Cory liked guys now. He liked guys, but he didn’t like Shawn.

“That’s not why,” Shawn said, staring down at his hands. The words were flickering up in his chest, bright, and tempting. It would be so easy to tell Cory everything, to finally stop being afraid. It felt like he was coming over the top of a roller coaster, staring down at the fuzzy green ground hundreds of feet below.

But Cory would never want him. No matter what Shawn said.

“I’m just getting used to him.” Shawn twisted his fingers together. “I’ll be fine soon.”

* * *

 He tried to get better. He stopped fleeing the room whenever Lionel entered it. He stopped imagining all the ways that Lionel and Cory might break up. He forced himself to chat with Lionel a couple of times, and discovered, to his dismay, that he was an okay guy. He was sweet and dorky, like Cory, and Shawn couldn’t help but be charmed.

Shawn even read a chapter of The Book, at Cory’s request. The chapter was entitled “How To Stop Worrying and Love the Gays.” It was, predictably, a whole lot of nonsense. The first fifteen pages were all about the author’s trip to the Bronx Zoo, and how humans were as varied as the animals he’d seen there. By the time the chapter was finished, Shawn was pretty sure he was less gay than he’d been when he started.

Of course, he seemed to be the only one not taken in by the Book’s cult-like power. It wasn’t long before he started seeing it popping up on the desks of all his classmates. Soon after that, he found two copies of it stuck in the couch at Jack’s apartment, and a third squirreled away under Jack’s bed.

“Are you serious?” Shawn asked, “You’re reading this crap?”

“It’s very enlightening, Shawn,” Jack said. He didn’t even bother to look away from the football game on TV. “It taught me a lot about myself.”

“It’s a bunch of garbage!”

“Don’t be so heteronormative, Shawn,” Rachel said, and he whirled on her.

“You’ve read it?”

“Yup,” Rachel said, dabbing bright purple nail polish onto her toes. “It taught me that I was bisexual. Did you know that bisexuality is a real thing? There was a whole chapter about it.”

“I loved that chapter!” Eric said, mouth stuffed full of potato chips. “And the internalized homophobia one!”

“That was a great one. I cried.”

“How did you all read this thing?” Shawn asked, “Is this the book club from hell?”

The other three exchanged looks. After a few seconds of nonverbal argument, during which Rachel somehow managed to passive-aggressively paint her big toe, Eric stood up. He wiped chip crumbs off his shirt, gripped both of Shawn’s shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye. His expression was deeply, condescendingly sympathetic.

“It seems like you’ve got some issues to work out, my friend,” he said, giving Shawn’s neck a comforting squeeze, “As a wise man once said, ‘I’m gay, and you can too.’ You can too, Shawn.”

“He should look at the chapter on bisexuality,” Rachel said.

“Maybe we should read him some sections,” Jack said.

“I’m leaving,” Shawn said.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, everyone started coupling off. Jack and Eric grew suspiciously cuddly. Rachel seemed to have stolen Topanga’s vegan. Just when Shawn thought the campus had gotten as gay as possible, he found out that Topanga was hooking up with Angela. _Angela_.

The first time Shawn saw Topangela, they were on the couch in the student union, holding hands, with Angela’s long legs were draped across Topanga’s lap. They kept giggling and pressing their foreheads together. Every so often, Angela would run her fingers through Topanga’s hair, and Topanga would lean her head back and smile.

For a second, Shawn thought it was some strange female friendship ritual. But then Topanga lifted Angela’s hand and kissed it, right along the knuckles. Her eyes were soft, almost reverent.

It made something in Shawn’s stomach twist. It felt like jealousy, but he couldn’t figure out who he was jealous of. Did he want to be Topanga? Angela? Or did he wish that he could be the one sitting there, with Cory tangled up against him?

He didn’t want to know.

“Don’t tell me you read the book too,” Shawn asked, collapsing into the grody yellow chair next to the couch. Angela and Topanga broke apart, Topanga dropping Angela’s hand, and Angela disentangling her fingers from Topanga’s hair. But her legs stayed where they were, like Topanga was her own personal ottoman.

“Topanga’s book?” Angela asked, and raised an eyebrow. “You think I’d read that trash?” At Topanga’s affronted noise, Angela touched her arm, giving her that grin that always used to make Shawn black out a little bit. “Sorry, honey.”

“It’s fine,” Topanga said, woeful. She smoothed a crease in Angela’s skirt. “Not everyone understands its genius.”

“Most people are obsessed with that thing,” Shawn said, “Eric keeps writing out excerpts from it and slipping them under my door.”

“Topanga put a quote on my whiteboard,” Angela said.

At this, Topanga made yet another affronted noise.

“I thought you loved that quote!” she said, “You told me you’d put it in your wedding vows!”

“And I will,” Angela said, “But I’ll be making fun of it when I do.”

All Topanga could do was huff, and fight off a smile.

She seemed happier like this. With Angela. Shawn had to admit it, even if seeing the two of them together made his heart kind of nauseous.

“If you didn’t like the book,” Shawn said, “How’d you two get together?”

“I figured out I was bi the old fashioned way,” Angela said, “I saw Alyssa Milano in a crop top.”

“That’ll turn ya,” Shawn said, “For me it was Brad Pitt in a mesh shirt.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back.

He shouldn’t have said that. They would know now. He would be _out_ now, and he hadn’t planned to come out until he was ninety. Or dead. Or engaged to a super rich guy.

But he’d blown it. He’d come out to his ex-girlfriend, and the ex-girlfriend of the love of his life. Pretty soon, everyone would know. Pretty soon, _Eric_ would know, and that would be nothing but torture.

God, Shawn’s life sucked so much.

For a long time, Angela and Topanga didn’t respond. They just looked at him. Topanga’s eyes were calm and calculating, and the side of Angela’s mouth was curling up.

“Brad Pitt, huh?” Angela said, “I never got why people were so into him. George Clooney is better.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“I don’t understand either of you,” Topanga said. She scrunched up her nose. “They’re both ugly.”

“Honey, you’re not attracted to men.”

“I still have taste!”

“If you’ve got so much taste, name one guy you think is cute.”

“Shawn!” Topanga said, pointing.

“Thanks, babe,” Shawn said, even as Angela shook her head.

“Nuh-uh. You’re copying me.”

“I have independent thoughts, Angela.”

“Nope. Pick another guy.”

“I’m a lesbian! The list is short.”

“Another guy!” Angela said, giving Topanga’s shoulder one poke for every syllable. Topanga glared at her, but the expression quickly collapsed into giggles. And then Angela started laughing. And once Angela laughed, Shawn did too. The three of them got so hysterical they drew stares.

All the nasty feelings in Shawn’s chest started breaking up, like packed dirt under a shovel.

“Shit,” Shawn said, once he was finally able to draw a breath, “You guys are a lot more fun now that you’re gay.”

“Thanks, Shawn,” Angela said, “You’re still not any fun.”

“Don’t I know it,” Shawn replied.

* * *

Somehow, he ended up talking to Topanga and Angela all through the afternoon and into the night. They’d talked before, of course. They’d been friends for years. But everything was suddenly easier now. Lighter. Maybe it was because Topanga and Shawn weren’t competing for Cory’s affection anymore. Or Angela’s.

Topanga laughed at more of Shawn’s jokes, and didn’t get scrunchy little frown lines around her eyes when he was being stupid. She started touching his arm more, squeezing his shoulder. At one point, she tucked the tag back into his shirt, and all he could do was grin at her like a dope.

And Angela was so funny. She kept teasing Shawn, every time he fixed his hair, or got distracted by a cute girl. He never felt like he had to defend himself, or act better to get her to like him. And he could enjoy her company without forcing himself to smile at her two times for every one time he smiled at Cory. There’d always been that anxiety, when he was with Angela. Anxiety that he paid too much attention to Cory. Touched him too much, liked him too much. But Angela wouldn’t care if he loved Cory now. Neither would Topanga. No one would.

Well, Lionel might.

As Shawn walked back to the dorm that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. They were all so happy now. It didn’t stop with Angela and Topanga. Things were easier for Rachel when Jack and Eric weren’t fighting over her. Of course, Jack and Eric still fought all the time, but when they argued these days, it seemed like they were having fun. Being around Eric used to make Jack tense up, like he had to be Eric’s babysitter. Now, it seemed like he didn’t worry so much. He trusted Eric.

Of course, Eric hadn’t changed a bit. Nothing could change him. Not even a nuclear war or an idiotic self-help book.

Then there was Cory.

When Shawn got back to the room, Cory was sprawled out on his bed, a comic book propped open on his stomach. For a second, he didn’t notice Shawn coming in, and so Shawn just watched him.

Towards the end, Topanga and Cory had been fighting constantly. Cory could barely get dressed in the morning without Topanga criticizing him. And if Topanga ever even looked at another guy, Cory would go crazy with jealousy. He was always insecure, and she was always stressed. They couldn’t talk without picking at each other, without their hackles going up and their voices getting shrill.

They’d been miserable.

“Hey,” Cory said, throwing Shawn an upside down grin. “Want to go see a movie?”

The expression on Cory’s face was so open. Effortless.

“Yeah, I do,” Shawn said, the words falling out of him, like water pouring out of a cup. “I’d like that.”

* * *

For most of the walk there, they didn’t talk. All the thoughts in Shawn’s head had gone kind of still. They were kind of floating around in his head, bumping into each other. It was nice.

Cory always knew when Shawn didn’t want to talk. He had an instinct for that kind of thing. He could sense all of Shawn’s moods the way animals sensed the weather. He didn’t always know what to do about them, and sometimes he made things worse, but he always knew. He was always there.

Right now, Cory was walking with his head low and his hands tucked into his pockets. Shawn stepped closer and let their elbows brush.

“I don’t hate that book so much anymore,” Shawn said.

“Oh, you don’t?” Cory asked, tilting his head up at Shawn. “You’ve been converted?”

“Yeah. I still think it’s a dumb book, but, I don’t know. It’s helping people.”

“It is.”

“It helped you, right? You’re happier, now, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty happy.”

That feeling was back in Shawn’s chest. The top-of-a-roller-coaster feeling.

“As happy as possible?” he asked, and Cory slowed. So did Shawn, matching Cory’s pace until they both stopped.

It had started to snow, a little. Lazy flecks rolled through the air, glinting in the glow of the street lamps.

“I don’t know,” Cory said. Snowflakes were gathering in his hair, his eyelashes. He was practically shimmering. “I don’t know how much happiness is possible.”

Shawn stepped towards him then. Everything was hazy and soft white, and Cory’s expression was so gentle. His eyes were crinkling up, and he hadn’t stopped smiling.

“Me neither,” Shawn said. They kept watching each other. If he stepped forward, he could press his fingers against the nylon of Cory’s jacket. He could pull Cory even closer.

He thought they’d agreed on something, but he wasn’t sure he knew what it was. Or maybe he knew, and Cory didn’t. Maybe neither of them did.

All Shawn knew was that he wanted to kiss Cory, and for the first time in his life, that felt like a genuine possibility.

But Cory dropped his head, and cleared his throat.

“We better keep walking,” he said, “We’re going to be late.”

Some part of Shawn felt like he should be heartbroken. Like he should be berating himself for even daring to hope. But instead, he could feel laughter, singing up through his body, like bubbles were popping under his skin.

* * *

After that, Shawn could barely pay attention to the movie. All he could think about was Cory’s arm, pressed against his. Their fingers brushing when they reached for the popcorn. It was so, so stupid, but Shawn hadn’t allowed himself to be stupid about Cory like this in a long time. He always fought it off, tooth and nail. He never let himself _like_ Cory. He never let himself inch closer to him, or marvel at the way the explosions on screen lit up his eyes.

God, Shawn was stupid, but he felt great.

He couldn’t fall asleep that night. All he could think about was kissing Cory, or holding his hand, or getting married to him. It was sappy but it was possible. It finally felt possible.

Sometimes, he thought about Lionel, but even that didn’t get him down. Lionel was a college fling. Shawn was going to put a ring on it.

Cory had disappeared shortly after they got back to their rooms. Probably to visit the aforementioned fling. Shawn didn’t care. He didn’t care about any of it. If he ever met the author of _I’m Gay and You Can Too_ , he’d probably kiss him square on the mouth.

The clock had barely ticked past one when the door slammed, and Shawn jumped.

“Cor?” he said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. In the darkness, he could make out the outline of Cory’s fluffy winter coat. Something that looked an awful lot like a mitten went flying through the air, landing with a thud on Cory’s bed. Then began the work of untangling the scarf. It was an especially long one, knitted by Mrs. Matthews during one of her craft-making kicks.

“Did I wake you?” Cory asked.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh,” Cory said, distinctly not apologizing, “Well, since you’re awake, I gotta talk to you.”

“Now?”

“This can’t wait.” He sounded anxious. Or mad. It was difficult to tell the difference when he got worked up like this.

“So talk.”

Cory came forward until he was looming at the foot of the bed. His huge coat was still on, and Shawn was pretty sure his boots were too.

“I broke up with Lionel,” he said. Shawn swallowed.

“Oh,” he said. His head was starting to spin a little. Could you get dizzy from happiness? Or was this a dream?

If it were a dream, Cory probably wouldn’t be dripping icy water all over the place.

“I really liked him,” Cory said, his voice getting more and more frantic. “I thought that would be enough. Why isn’t it enough, Shawn?”

“Cor.”

“The book was supposed to fix this! It was supposed to make everything better!”

“You have to calm down, buddy.”

“I can’t calm down!”

“Cory,” Shawn said. He pushed himself forward and wrapped his hands around the freezing, sodden sleeves of Cory’s jacket. “What’s wrong?”

This close, he could finally make out Cory’s features. His eyes were wide and bright, and his mouth was hanging open. There were bits of snow stuck in his curls.

“I love you,” Cory said. He’d gotten quiet, all of a sudden, like he’d run out of breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Shawn said.

“And I know you don’t love me, but that’s okay! I thought you might change your mind if you read the book, but I guess if you’re straight, you’re straight! It’s a great book, but it’s not magic or anything. And I don’t mind having straight friends!”

“Cory,” Shawn said, squeezing Cory’s arms and letting a huge, idiotic grin spread across his face. “I am not straight.”

“You’re not?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Oh,” Cory said, “Okay.”

Shawn laced his fingers around Cory’s neck, feeling chunks of snow melting under his fingers. He kissed Cory, then, right on his icy mouth. Cory wrapped his frigid arms around him, and Shawn could feel water soaking into the back of his shirt, and that stupid coat was keeping him about a million miles away from Cory, and he was pretty sure he was going to get hypothermia on his face or something, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Cory loved him. He could handle a little frostbite.


End file.
